


How it Ends

by orphan_account



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Bit of Fluff, Comfort, First Kiss, M/M, No Plot/Plotless, Soppy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-04
Updated: 2019-07-04
Packaged: 2020-06-03 17:41:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,408
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19468912
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: "This is my heartbeat. Like yours, it is a hatchet. It can build a house or tear one down." - Andrea Gibson





	How it Ends

There had been many nights like this. And yet, none quite like it.

They were watching June melt into July from the roof of the demon’s place. Neither was quite sure how they got up there in the first place, but it happened somewhere between the second and third bottle of Malbec. Around midnight they were halfway to sober again, so they could dare to sit on the very edge of the roof. They kicked their feet out over the city below.

Crowley’s jacket and fancy scarf, long discarded, were cushioning their empty bottles somewhere behind them. Aziraphale’s coat and vest had been shed somewhere inside. As a warm, dry breeze tussled their hair and wrapped around the London boulevards the angel undid his bowtie. He let the tails hang limp against his chest as he opened the collar and cuffs of his shirt. Crowley watched him roll his sleeves up. First the left arm, then the right.

Somewhere in the distance a car alarm was going off. Engines were running. People were shouting and walking and running. Lights were turning on and off. Trains and trollies and double decker buses rumbled. Clouds were rolling in. It was hot but it smelled like rain. Aziraphale pressed his palms against his knees, tapping out a rhythm that abstractly matched the music of it all. Time hadn’t slowed down but it certainly felt like it was about it. That was the magic of life on this earth, one could suppose. 

“Have you ever-” Aziraphale’s question died before it was finished. The moment he had stilled his own hands Crowley’s had strayed closer, rising from from the bit of concrete ledge between them. His pinkie and ring finger brushing against the side of Aziraphale’s wrist.

“You burnt yourself.” He said, genuinely surprised.

“Oh…oh, yes.” Aziraphale huffed out a laugh, wriggling a bit as Crowley inched closer. The demon bent forward and to the side, using those same two fingers to lift the angel’s hand. There was a red pucker of skin the size of a grape just above the rounded bone of his wrist.

“You didn’t heal it?”

“I was making tea. Kettle was ready. Must have slipped my mind.” Crowley’s fingers were two hot points of contact against the angel’s palm. He pulled his sunglasses down his nose to better observe the wound. He smoothed the thumb of his free hand across the irritated skin. Aziraphale felt a shiver race up and down his spine. If he had a human heart it might have leapt into his throat. He felt hot. Then cold. And hot again. The burn faded with the first pass of Crowley’s thumb and then disappeared with the second. Any residual ache or twinge of pain vanished with it. The healed skin was seamless. “Thank you.” Aziraphale murmured.

They both watched Crowley’s hands continue to move. Suddenly their palms were pressed together. Four fingertips from the other hand slipped up Aziraphale’s bare forearm, a short but gentle stroke for skin rarely seen. The demon cupped the angel's elbow and raised the arm further, swooping forward so quickly Aziraphale thought he might pull them both face first off the ledge. It was a pleasant surprise to find the same free-falling sensation could be captured by the ever so gentle touch of Crowley’s lips landing squarely on the back of his hand. A gentleman’s kiss. Aziraphale jumped but they were still very much rooted in place..still sitting side by side on the edge of the roof.

Crowley returned the angel’s hand, placing it back where he found it. He folded his own back in his lap, gaze falling down towards the street directly below them.

“Have I ever-?” He asked, voice hoarse. Aziraphale cleared his own throat and wondered if his cheeks were as pink as they felt.

“Have you ever what, Crowley?”

“You never finished your question. Just now. Earlier.”

“Oh.” They could do it. They could go back to watching the city. It would be easy. Talking. Sipping on the dregs of their last bottle. Waxing poetic. They had quite a few years of practice under their belts. They could pretend they hadn’t just shifted a dynamic several millennia in the making. The dim nighttime aura of the city was lighting Crowley’s profile just so. Something as warm as God’s grace abruptly blanketed the angel head to toe.

Oh no. That wouldn’t do.

Aziraphale reached this time. He closed his eyes and hoped for the best. When he opened them, Crowley’s glasses were in his hand. His friend started and stopped saying half a dozen different things as the angel folded down the metal arms and placed them out of harm’s way. His mouth fell altogether shut when Aziraphale caressed him.

It was a shy touch. The side of his hand against his temple, following the curve of his cheek and the line of his jaw. They both took in a deep, shuddering breath at the same time.

“You-“ Crowley finally uttered. “You…” The corner of Aziraphale’s mouth ticked up. His smile was shaky but sure.

“Me.” He agreed. “And you.” The angel kept touching. He pushed his fingers into that thick hair, drawing shallow furrows that immediately fell back into place. Once. Twice. A third time. Crowley scanned his face, wetting and then biting his lip. There was a line, curve, or freckle on his face that he wasn't already familiar with. 

“Angel.” He said in a whisper as those fingers brushed the top of his neck, gently pushing down on the top of his spine. As they both inhaled they found themselves impossibly closer, thigh to thigh and side to side. Their noses bumped as they hovered and hesitated. Crowley’s hand spread over the center of Aziraphale’s chest. He tugged at the end of the unknotted bow tie a few times before sliding it all the way off. He cast it behind them, presumably somewhere alongside his sunglasses. He touched Aziraphale’s chin and let his fingers trace the angel’s throat before fisting them in the loose shirt collar. He held on like his life depended on it. Yes. Now. It was happening. 

This must have been the sort of moment that made mortal hearts race.

Crowley trembled at the first kiss, a chaste but sincere press against the right corner of his mouth. Then the left. Then his chin. Did God love anything this much? 

The dam broke. He kissed Aziraphale fully and properly, holding those soft cheeks between his hands as they shuddered and clung closer and kissed again. And again. And again. Aziraphale only broke away to kiss Crowley's forehead, right where it always furrowed when they argued. He kissed the print the sunglasses always left on the top of his nose. He kissed the tears away from the corners of his eyes and chased the tracks of those that had already rolled down his cheeks.

“Crowley.” He hummed. “Darling.”

Aziraphale remembered learning how to breathe but forgetting how to was entirely novel. The skill was diluted by the taste of wine washing over his tongue as they kissed once more. Was their any holier way to take communion? Probably not.

“Mmm. Fuck.” Crowley swore into his mouth. “Aziraphale.” They separated but a few breaths.

“I love you.” The angel answered. “I love you.” Crowley choked on a sob before letting it go, falling into the angel’s neck. He pulled Aziraphale’s loose collar aside as far as it would go. He tasted and sucked at the pale crook of his neck.

“Again.” Their arms curled around each other. They laughed the sort of disbelieving, hysterical laugh that came with adrenaline rushes. 

“I love you. So much.” Aziraphale found his eyes cast skyward. His own tears obscured the moon and scattered stars. How wretched and divine. “Is this alright?”

“Too fast?” Crowley asked, though unable to stop himself from opening his mouth against Aziraphale’s throat.

“No.”

“ _No_.” They agreed. It was exhilarating. Crowley opened another button on Aziraphale’s shirt. He moved slowly, which as much reverence as he could ever remember having, kissing the places where Aziraphale's chest hair began. A shudder ran through both of them.

“Good.”

“Yes.” They gathered each other more tightly, trying to hold each other still and caress and touch and feel all at once. 

“Do that again. Please.”

“Yes. Yes of course.” 

There would be many more nights like this. And yet, none quite like it. 


End file.
